If It Pleases You
by PrizJefra
Summary: "Aragorn," he said breathlessly. The sound of his name was so sweet yet so powerful on Legolas's tongue: sweeter than any music that he could ever wish to hear, "will you have me?" "If it pleases you." Aragorn was restless. So was his companion. Aragorn/Legolas. Will get much more delicious in the next chapter. (Used to be called An Elf and A man)
1. Chapter 1

Many days they had spent hunting the young hobbits and with every hour that passed Aragorn felt hope leaving his body like an exhalation of frosty air. Every print, every odd indentation in the rolling, white grass seemed to him to be an indication of the hobbits' whereabouts but too often those markings turned out to be the result of his own folly or some fleeing beast. Too often he had risen from his knees in shame, never really sure how to inform his companions that he had been mistaken once again. In his quietest, innermost thoughts he blessed them – the beautiful elf and the fiery dwarf – and at the same time he cursed their willingness to follow him wherever he may lead them without question or skepticism. At times, when they were traversing yet another stony path leading to some obscure place, he wanted to turn around, grab them both by the shoulders, and shout, "Fools! Why must you follow me in so blind a fashion? I know not where I am leading you nor can I guarantee your safety!" Yet every time he turned towards them with some vague notion of rebellion in his head his eyes would meet those of the elf's and he would feel strangely calmed, almost unnaturally so. _I know_, Legolas seemed to say with set glances and determined steps, I _know that you are lost. Let us find the path of victory and renewal together_. Aragorn knew, in part, that this renewed feeling of strength and energy that he felt every time he happened to glance at Legolas (whose eyes were always on him at that moment) was not in itself a product of his own soul and body. He had often felt like this whenever he was in the presences of elves – tranquil, peaceful, and powerful – and he briefly wondered, with some amusement, whether the feelings that he felt were caused by the pure, elven livelihood that shone about Legolas like a sparkling coat or the elf himself…

Aragorn shook his head to rid himself of such trivial speculations. The Company – or, rather, what was left of it – had been traveling over the rolling plains for hours on end. There was nothing to be seen for miles around except for the shining white boulders that seemed to have been dropped onto the grassy plains from the very sky itself. Ahead of them a lush forest stood, lining the horizon like a flank of silent sentries all grouped together. His intuition beckoned him there, and while he was told that a Ranger's intuition is stronger than any compass, he felt that he was only leading his company into the heart of a black and irreversibly tragedy.

He turned his head and happened to glance upon Legolas running swiftly besides him as if he were an arrow shot from a bow. His whitish-blond hair streamed out behind him, making his fine nose and gentle cheekbones seem unusually sharp. Always Aragorn had been fascinated by the gracefulness of elves: a gracefulness that often masked the power and cunning within. Even now as he watched Legolas sprint besides him he thought he saw the light of a thousand fires upon his brow mingled with a certain determination to set right what had been wronged with a polished bow and well-aimed arrow. Right at that moment the elf turned and looked at him without slowing his pace. Aragorn shuddered. He felt as if his lungs had been filled with ice. Though the two travelers had become friends in an almost brotherly sort of way there was always something about those distant blue eyes that both frightened and inspired him. He turned away, with some difficulty, and focused his mind on the task ahead of him. Behind them, Gimli was muttering and cursing beneath his breath.

"What is this?" he called gruffly upon witnessing the exchange between his two companions, "A new language that I have never heard of before? I would prefer it if I could save my breath, too, and speak only in thoughts and glances but I am afraid that some of the darker remembrances of my past may be revealed. Eyes forward, Man and Elf!"

Aragorn wasn't sure, but he thought he saw Legolas smile.

Later that night…

Night had fallen long ago and after hours of sprinting towards the rising forest the three companions had stumbled wearily into its wooded arms. There was some debate as to whether or not it was wise to camp in so dark and mysterious a place but in the end, yielding partly to their sudden fatigue, they decided to set up camp at the very edge of the forest so that they may keep their eyes out for both creepers of the plain and inhabitants of the forest. After having promised to take the second watch in a voice thick with sleepiness Gimli feel fast asleep against the trunk of a gnarled tree. The elf had wandered off somewhere, singing softly to himself under his breath. The sound of his voice came back to Aragorn through the greyish mist that hung lazily about the forest. The young king raised his head and listened contentedly as the ancient elven melody wound its way between the trunks of the trees and slowly pushed its ways into his thoughts, pushing out, as it did, guilt ridden images of hobbits being tortured by merciless Orcs. So entranced was he by Legolas's song that he did not hear the soft footsteps come up slowly behind him.

"Aragorn,"

Immediately he was up and on his feet, the silver blade of Anduril pressed against his assailant's throat. But it was not an assailant that now stood before him but Legolas back from his wanderings. The elf smiled.

"I am honored to travel with such a keen-eared companion as yourself," Aragorn sighed in relief and lowered his sword.

"Much prouder, I'm sure, if your companion was just a bit keener. Come, Legolas. You have been wandering the forest ever since we arrived. You must rest."

"Must I?" Legolas asked mischievously. Without warning he put his hand (so slender and white) on Aragorn's shoulder and gently pushed him down into a reclining position and knelt beside him. "Then what does that say for you, restless traveler? Rest, to me, is breathing in the midnight air and contemplating the patterns in the stars. I am rested. Let me take watch for the rest of the night."

"Nay, we will watch the forest and the plains together. I cannot sleep."

"Something ails you?" Legolas clasped Aragorn's hand in his own and leaned in closer to the man, his golden hair brushing Aragorn's chest as his inquisitive yet careful eyes as blue as frozen sapphires roamed over his companion's face. Suddenly, Aragorn felt exposed, highly vulnerable as he had never felt before and, beneath that, a raw, untamed desire to become one with the living moonlight that leaned over him with a gaze full of earnestness. It was as if Legolas's gaze had unlocked something deep inside of him, something that he had been trying to hide from himself for a very long time.

"You know!" he cried out suddenly, a note of accusation ringing in his voice. Gimli grunted in his sleep. "You know what ails me," he said in a quieter voice. The elf flinched at his companion's passionate outburst and quickly ran a cool hand over Aragorn's forehead, pushing away the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen over his face.

"I can only guess at the thoughts that occupy the mind of the great son of Arathorn," he said softly. Aragorn closed his eyes and took a shaky breath in.

"I have failed," he muttered, "I have failed you and the young hobbits."

"You have failed no one, Aragorn."

"I have led you into an endless maze in which I know not where to go."

"And still I will follow you. I have faith in you, Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the same reasons that that your people have faith in you, for the same reasons that Gandalf and so many others have faith in you. I see wisdom and intuition in you, Ellesar, wisdom and intuition that will not lead us astray. Ay, Men," the elf said suddenly, placing his free hand upon Aragorn's breast, "do not have faith in their hearts and yet they claim that it is the governor of great deeds. Sleep, my friend. Let soothing dreams and sweet oblivion clear these doubtful thoughts away."

With that Legolas bent down and kissed his companion's forehead. Never before could Aragorn have imagined a touch so soft, so sweet, and he found his thoughts drifting towards strange…strange things. But the kiss had lasted longer than he had expected and he realized, with some confusion, that Legolas was lingering. Finally the elf pulled away and gazed at Aragorn with something akin to adoration. He opened his mouth to speak, perhaps whisper something in his own tongue, he did not know, but before he could force the words past his lips Aragorn had risen up on his elbows was now only a few breaths away from him. Silent, the elf and the man stared at each other, their shallow breaths brushing across each other's lips before Aragorn leaned in closer and pulled the elf into a hesitant kiss. The gesture was innocent enough but still Aragorn felt in himself the arousal of some great beast. Unable to control himself, he placed his hand on the back of Legolas's neck and pulled the elf in closer while the other hand held on tightly to the hunched shoulder. It seemed to him as though Legolas had tensed beneath his touch and for a moment Aragorn regretted his rash actions but soon Legolas began to kiss him with much more vigor and possession as his nimble fingers wandered restlessly about Aragorn's body.

"Aragorn," he said breathlessly. The sound of his name was so sweet yet so powerful on Legolas's tongue: sweeter than any music that he could ever wish to hear, "will you have me?"

"If it pleases you," Legolas purred low in his throat and grabbed his other hand.

"Some would say that this is wrong," he said carefully as he slipped Aragorn's hand beneath his shirt and ran it over his skin. Aragorn shuddered and gasped.

"An elf and a man? No, I implore you; do not look at it as such if it worries you. You are merely…" he opened his eyes and smiled, "…helping me to rest."

"Really, Aragorn?" Without another word he slipped the emerald green vest and brown trousers from his body and crouched beside Aragorn a naked and unabashed god. Aragorn's breath caught in his throat.

"You are…glorious to behold," he muttered, so desperate and yet so afraid to touch the beautiful body lest he should spoil it with his rough hand. Finally, he gathered up enough courage and placed a hand on Legolas's chest, slowly trailing it down between the smooth thighs. Legolas made a noise as if he were about to sneeze and shivered. Aragorn briefly wondered whether or not he had ever engaged in something so sexual in the manner of Men before. He doubted it, but his thoughts were turned somewhere else completely when he felt Legolas's hands slip gracefully beneath his trousers.

"Very well, Aragorn. I will help you rest."

**To be continued? **


	2. Chapter 2

The words slipped from Legolas's sweet lips and settled, quivering, upon Aragorn's heart like a cold droplet of water. He exhaled shakily and closed his eyes as Legolas began to run his hand lovingly over his inner thigh. _My heart does not belong to you_, he thought. He gasped and bucked his hips when Legolas's hand reached his swelling manhood. He desperately tried to conjure up images of his true love in an attempt to prove to himself that he was still loyal to her but for once the thought of her face, her clear eyes inspired nothing within him. Sensing the man's tension, Legolas brought his other hand up to Aragorn's face and pressed his palm against his cheek. _My heart does not belong to you_, he thought again as layer upon of his clothes were removed and cast aside, quickly forgotten in the heat of the moment. He lay naked and shivering, unabashed beside his smiling companion. _But under the stars on this cold, moonlit night you may have my body and all that I am._

Legolas slid atop Aragorn's body as he continued to kiss him, tugging passionately at the man's hair. Then, much to his surprise and pleasure, Legolas began to move his hips ever so slightly against his, the soft friction between them making him dizzy with desire and anticipation.

"My dear Legolas," he cried when he felt that he could take it no more. Gimli snorted in his sleep and he quickly hushed his voice. "Where did you learn –" Legolas slipped his hand from beneath him and placed a long white finger upon Aragorn's parted lips.

"Shh, Ellesar. Be silent," he whispered, "if our good friend Gimli were awake he would implore us not to look too deeply into the dark remembrances of our past."

"Dark, Legolas?" But Legolas would say no more. Sighing, Aragorn sat up and gently pushed the elf away from him. Legolas looked at him in surprise but then quickly comprehended Aragorn's intentions when he put his hand against his chest and gently pushed him down until he was lying flat on his back on the damp ground, his hair shining about him like a golden aura. Years later Aragorn would remember, amongst many other things, the stunning contrast between the elf's smooth, graceful body and his own – so tanned and harsh as was to be expected of a Ranger. He'd always found elves to be a fair and fleet-footed folk (often nothing more than a blur of alabaster and gold when moving or a statuesque beacon of light when still) and as he looked down at Legolas he realized that the young eleven prince was giving himself to him. He was casting aside his own pride and the pride of his people , leaving behind only his beauty, purity, and vulnerability so that the two may find pleasure in each other's bodies on that cold, watchful night. The realization made him swoon and he lowered his head onto Legolas's body, running his tongue over the smooth, flawless skin. Legolas gasped soundlessly and grabbed a fistful of Aragorn's hair when the Ranger's warm tongue found his cock and began to slide over the sensitive skin beneath it. He wanted to say something: he wanted to cry and moan and scream and kick, so overwhelming was his pleasure, but he was unaccustomed to using such passionate displays of emotion so instead he bit his lip and tried to suppress the words – mostly meaningless and barely thought out - that he wanted to say as Aragorn's mouth moved lovingly about his cock. Finally, the Ranger lifted his head, leaving Legolas hungry for more and yet strangely satisfied. Aragorn ran his hand over his chest once before pulling his hips closer and placing his legs on his shoulders.

"This may hurt," he said softly, looking down at him with a concerned expression. At that moment, as he had many times in the past when a strange mood was upon him, he looked, in truth, like the king that he was. His long black hair hung about his face in wavy strands, framing his strong jaw and the curves of his face that at once made him look so handsome and yet at the same time so dark and proud. The moonlight shone upon that weary face and to Legolas it seemed as if he were in the presence of every majestic king that had walked upon the earth embodied within one man. He didn't know whether the though scared him or aroused him. Aragorn put his fingers in his mouth and then slid them between Legolas's spread legs. He felt one finger slip inside of him, followed by another and another. They felt so foreign. He winced.

"Shall we end this?" Aragorn asked.

"No," Legolas sighed shakily and muttered something in his own tongue as Aragorn pulled his finger out and then pushed them back in again, "no, go on."

The pleasure-laced ting in the elf's voice made Aragorn lick his lips and he began to move his fingers faster and faster until the elf beneath him broke into a cold sweat and began to wriggle and mutter a string of broken assents and pleads. The kings eyes swept over the sweat slickened chest and thighs that glittered beautifully in the moonlight and, though he tried to hide it for the elf's sake, his eyes burned with hunger, an insatiable desire, to ravish the perfect body; ravish it in a way that brought them both an unthinkable sort of pleasure. He pulled his fingers out one last time and moved in closer to Legolas. The fierce night wind that blew against his back was cold, icy, almost, but Legolas's thighs were warm and oh so velvety soft as they rested against his body. He nuzzled the elf's snow white ankles and kissed his toes in a display of affection but found, much to his disappointment, that Legolas seemed more anxious than not.

"Look at me," Aragorn commanded as he slid one hand between his legs. He pulled Legolas close – impossibly close with the other. Legolas looked up at him, a look of trust and confusion breaking through the anxiety. "Look at me and do not look away."

With that he guided his cock into Legolas's tight hole, grunting ever so slightly with the effort. "Legolas," he muttered, trying to catch the elf's eye. "Legolas, look at me. Look into my eyes. Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

Aragorn reached down and stroked Legolas's cheek, the last gentle form of affection that he was to spare that night and then placed his hand back on Legolas's ankle. Gripping tightly, he shoved the rest of his length into the elf's body until he felt himself buried to the hilt in a tight, quivering warmth. He could feel the waves of passion began to roll through his body; clouding his mind and making him clumsy with desire. He grabbed Legolas's thighs and began to thrust , making the elf gasp and cry out in pleasure and pain. His own cock bounced helplessly against his belly with every thrust and, seeing that the elf would not allow himself (was he perhaps ashamed?) the added pleasure, Aragorn wrapped his hand about it and pumped it in time with his own movements. The friction between Aragorn's palm and his own manhood combined with the strange yet pleasurable sensation that came from the feeling of Aragorn's thick length inside of him was enough to make the elf cast aside all previous doubts. He found that if he clenched exactly at the right moment he'd experience a new sort of pleasure that caused a funny fluttering sensation in his stomach and made him cringe. Legolas bit his finger and moaned deep in his throat as Aragorn bent down and kissed his neck while at the same time quickening his tempo. He wanted to say something to the king – _his_ king at that moment– but found that he was incapable of speech. Right at that moment Aragorn raised his head and looked into his eyes, a faint smile playing around his lips. Legolas felt a laugh rise within his chest but the feeling was quickly replaced by a jolt of pleasure that spiked through his body and made him shudder. He quickly closed his eyes and the cobalt blue light that had held captive Aragorn's heart only a moment ago quickly vanished. His kissed Legolas's neck once more before running his tongue up to the strong jaw and nibbling along the rim of the elf's pointed ear. He felt Legolas laugh beneath him and knew that he had achieved his goal. Assured of the elf's comfort now, he allowed himself to indulge completely in the ecstasy that was quickly rising within him. His thrusts became uncontrolled, erratic and the only sounds that could be heard at that moment were Aragorn's quick, studded breaths, the elf's higher-pitched cries, and the quickening sound of flesh against flesh.

"Aragorn…Aragorn…I think I am going to -!" suddenly the elf arched his back and cried out into the night: a cry that was quickly muffled by Aragorn's palm. But the Ranger could do nothing to stop the suddenly wild bucking of Legolas's hips against his own as the elf spilled his seed all over his chest. But it did not matter for, spurred on by the fluttering and tightening of Legolas's body, Aragorn emptied himself in one final, mighty thrust.

Panting, Aragorn lowered himself onto the elf's body and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt extraordinarily tired and drained of all energy. Legolas's chest was warm and soft against his cheek and he felt as if he could lay there forever: basking in the muted euphoria that warmed him and the sound of Legolas's slow breathing. He could feel the wetness between their bellies and thought to himself through a cloud of drowsiness that he ought to do something about it but, at that moment, he was content with letting the sound of Legolas's heart beat soothe him into a light, dreamless sleep. He felt hands run through his hair and caress his back.

"Aragorn…" Legolas breathed. He kissed the top of his head.

"Yes, my dearest friend?" He looked up at Legolas and had to suppress a laugh. The elf wore a look of intense confusion as if he were trying to remember something long since passed.

"For the first time in my life…I feel as if I do not possess the words with which I can express how I feel."

"Then use your lips."

"But that is the problem. I cannot –"

"No," Aragorn said, his eyes flashing mischievously, "_use_ your _lips_." With that he tilted his chin up and kissed Legolas once again. The elf had to crane his neck to in order to catch Aragorn's lips in his own and because of it the kiss was awkward and sloppy and yet they found pleasure in the soft wetness that was their lust. Legolas pulled away and looked Aragorn in the eye.

"Well, Aragorn? Do you feel sufficiently rested?" Aragorn smiled a true, full smile of the sort so few had ever had the privilege of seeing. He could find no witty words to complete this banter so instead he laid his head back down on Legolas's chest and ran his hand over his smooth forearm.

"Yes," he said and with that he drifted off to sleep. But Legolas's could not sleep. He stayed awake all night, watching the stars fade away into a misty blue until finally, as the birds began to sing their morning ballads, he was taken by shameful, biting dreams.


End file.
